


Hands Standing Still

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Antonio failed to understand what Lovino was trying to say, and the one time he finally got a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ August 28, 2011.

  
**I.**   
“You don’t wear your cross anymore,” Antonio says one day.   
  
Lovino pauses, and looks up from the counter, where he’s busy making some homemade pasta for dinner that night. (He refuses to let Antonio buy pasta, and he flat-out rejects any attempts by Antonio to make it. Not since that one time Antonio made that one simple mistake.) He wipes at his forehead with his forehead, expression grim for a moment as if trying to parse out exactly what Antonio is saying. Antonio just smiles.   
  
“What?” he asks. It’s a warm day, and it shows in the way Lovino’s cheeks flush.  
  
“Your cross,” Antonio replies, looking at Lovino’s throat where there isn’t any necklace or rosary to speak of. It’s a very nice neck, he thinks, before he pushes the thought away.   
  
“Are you an idiot?” Lovino asks, half to Antonio and half to himself, and goes back to the pasta.   
  
“I’m not,” Antonio protests, pulling up a stool to the counter and watching Lovino work. He settles himself in and makes himself comfortable, content to just watch Lovino all day if he could. But Lovino doesn’t usually tolerate it. It’s a shame, really, because the heat of the day is magnificent and Lovino keeps rolling his sleeves up, unhooking a button of his shirt. Magnificent because Lovino is magnificent and Antonio could easily fall away into fantasy from just sitting there and watching him do something as routine as make food—  
  
“You are. What makes you think that I just forgot to put it on today?” Lovino asks. A rhetorical question, perhaps. Antonio isn’t sure.   
  
He decides to answer all the same. “You always used to wear it. I’ve noticed lately that you don’t wear it anymore. Why don’t you?”   
  
“I haven’t worn it in years,” Lovino says, voice falling quieter—soft as the sun pressing against the windows of the kitchen. “Idiot.”   
  
“But why?”   
  
A nerve in Lovino’s forehead twitches. “Why does it fucking matter? Maybe I just don’t feel like it.”   
  
“That doesn’t sound like you, Lovi.”   
  
Lovino rolls his eyes and flicks a clump of pasta dough at Antonio. It bounces off his cheek and rolls uselessly across the counter. Antonio pushes it slightly with the tip of one finger, but otherwise ignores it. His eyes train back to Lovino, studying him. He realizes distantly that he’s been studying Lovino a lot lately.   
  
There’s no particular reason for it. Just lately it’s been harder and harder for him to take his eyes off him. Antonio enjoys watching Lovino, even if, once he notices, Lovino often gets very angry. There isn’t anything that’s triggered the emotions, but lately Antonio has been finding it harder and harder to pretend that he isn’t hopelessly in love with Lovino. That’s probably where all the problems lie.   
  
“Why don’t you wear it?”  
  
“Why do you want to fucking know so bad?” Lovino snaps, sounding angry now more than just annoyed. Antonio is toeing the line.  
  
Antonio laughs. Truthfully, deep down, he thinks maybe it’s a sign of hope. But he knows better than to look for that, to invest in that. “I’m just curious,” he says, not defensively. He smiles warmly at Lovino, hoping it will soothe the feathers he’s ruffled. “That’s all.”   
  
“Piety never did me any good,” Lovino mutters, staring down at the counter. He frowns, and the worry lines form at the corners of his eyes. “It’s not the first time, idiot. My people and I go through years of doubt. I’ll find my way back to the church eventually.” He gives Antonio a Look. Antonio smiles at him. Lovino looks away, and punches at the pasta dough. “I’m just too much of a sinner.”   
  
Antonio rests his chin in his hand and stares at Lovino. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“Like I care what a heathen like you thinks,” Lovino says with a snap. “It’s your fault. You’ve been no help in this entire process.”  
  
“What, the pasta?” asks Antonio, unsure where the sudden topic change appears from.  
  
Lovino gives him a flat look, and snorts bitterly. “ _No,_ not the pasta. Ugh, whatever. I don’t need you, anyway.”  
  
“That’s not very nice. Or cute,” Antonio says with a sigh, and flicks the piece of dough back towards Lovino.   
  
  
  
**II.**  
It’s after a rather long and slightly brutal world meeting that Antonio invites Lovino to have a drink with them. The meeting is in Germany this year, so for most of the ride and subsequent searching for a suitable pub, Lovino is grumpy and moody and muttering muted insults about Ludwig and how he’s probably off being gross with Feliciano. He throws in a jab about Gilbert for good measure. And since they’re on the topic, Lovino also decides to insult Francis and, finally, as it is the natural progression of all complaining from Lovino, he complains about Antonio. His stupid hair, his stupid smile, his stupid way of not fucking paying attention. Antonio finds Lovino’s grumpiness adorable most of the time, but he hopes that a drink will help loosen him up all the same. He thinks it’ll do Lovino some good, too.   
  
Once they find a place that Lovino doesn’t outright reject, they slip inside and Lovino finds a table while Antonio orders them drinks—he knows Lovino’s favorite by heart at this point, so Lovino often takes advantage of Antonio’s tab. Antonio doesn’t particularly mind, because he likes being able to give things to Lovino. He hums happily as he ambles back towards Lovino with the two drinks and a wide smile. Lovino rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, but kicks out a chair for Antonio to sit on once he gets closer.   
  
“Thanks,” Antonio says, cheerful, and Lovino’s expression almost softens. Antonio hands him a drink with the same warm smile and he hopes it will be infectious and soften Lovino’s features more.  
  
No such luck. Lovino takes a swig of the drink and scowls. “Tch. Even something that should be delicious tastes awful when we’re in the potato bastard’s country.”   
  
“Oh, Lovi,” Antonio says with a fond smile, resting his chin in his hand. Really, even when he’s angry, he’s just too cute. Despite himself, Antonio feels the swell of affection in his chest.   
  
“Don’t you fucking _Oh, Lovi_ me, asshole,” Lovino mutters into his drink before taking another long sip. “I’m serious.”  
  
“I know you are,” Antonio says, still smiling at him. Lovino glares at him and then glares around the room for good measure. And glares some more. Then he downs his drink and slams the glass back on the table.   
  
“Tch,” he snorts.   
  
Antonio can’t blame Lovino for his bad mood—he knows how much he dislikes Ludwig and his country, even if Antonio thinks he should be able to let it go by now. The particular meeting they’d just left had been rather long and had ended in a shouting match between nations, so it’s understandable that Lovino would be grumpy. One of these days, Antonio thinks, he should really teach Lovino how to just let things go. Things are always much happier that way when you can let go of your anger and sadness.   
  
“One day I’ll teach you how to let go,” he says.   
  
Lovino gives him a withering look, his lip curling up. “Don’t fuck with me today, bastard. I’m not in the mood for the stupid things you say.”   
  
“I’ll get you another drink,” Antonio offers and stands, wandering over towards the barkeeper. He hears Lovino mutter something mutinous behind him, but Antonio feels rather pleasant as he approaches the counter.   
  
There’s a pretty girl at the bar, too, so Antonio nods and smiles a greeting at her. Her smile turns a little coy in turn and as Antonio waits to be served, he chats with her amiably and doesn’t really mind when she gets very touchy very quickly and slides her fingers over his bicep. He chats with her a little longer, even after Lovino’s new drink is waiting at his elbow, and when she bats her eyelashes and admits that she’s thirsty but doesn’t have enough money for a drink, he thinks it’s only common courtesy to buy a drink for her. After all, Ludwig is always very accommodating when the nations visit for the meetings, it’s only polite to help one of his people. Pretty as she was, though, it wasn’t entirely what Antonio felt like doing, flirting with a girl at the bar. Especially since he’d much rather get back to Lovino.   
  
But when he returns, it seems his mood has worsened. Antonio can’t be sure why the sudden change, but obviously letting Lovino stew alone was bad for his state of being. Antonio hands over Lovino’s drink and Lovino stares down into it, brooding. He doesn’t say anything right away, and he doesn’t even lob an insult his way. He must be very unhappy, Antonio thinks to himself.   
  
“… Did she reject you or something?” Lovino asks, not lifting his angered gaze from his drink. He swirls his finger along the lip of the glass, eyes hooded. The lights above them casts nice shadows from his eyelashes, Antonio thinks.   
  
Antonio looks back over towards the girl at the counter, who sips the drink he bought her with that same coy smile. She gives him a small little wave. Antonio smiles back, then turns to Lovino.   
  
“No, she didn’t reject me!” Antonio says, still smiling. He scoots his chair closer to Lovino, undisturbed how odd it probably seems to the girl that he would sit at a table with an angry man rather than with her. Lovino is who he’d come here with, though, and, besides, Lovino is much prettier. Even if Antonio isn’t about to verbally admit to that thought—he doesn’t feel like dealing with Lovino exploding in anger and throwing his drink in Antonio’s face. It isn’t a cheap drink, after all.  
  
Lovino grunts. But it is then that Antonio notices. Lovino is tense all over, his shoulders hunched and unmoving. And his fist is clenched. His nails are digging hard into his palm. He is rigid and unmoving, his entire face tensed into short, curt lines.   
  
“Lovi?” Antonio asks, cautious, because he’s fearing that Lovino really _is_ going to throw a drink in his face.   
  
He hadn’t realized the meeting had bothered him so much. Antonio feels the flood of sympathy in the base of his gut and he smiles at Lovino even as Lovino’s jaw clenches, his lips thinned out into a straight, impassionate line.   
  
It pains him a little to see Lovino so distraught and though he isn’t sure what about the meeting could have upset him this much, Antonio carefully makes a move of comfort, placing his fingers gently onto Lovino’s forearm. Lovino’s hand immediately unclenches.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Antonio says.   
  
When Antonio looks up, Lovino is looking at him, looking a little less murderous.   
  
“Antonio?” Lovino asks, voice hushed again. Lovino seems as if he’s closer than he was a moment ago, and Antonio thinks that maybe he just wasn’t paying attention before. It’s almost suffocating how close Lovino is. Antonio can’t read the expression on his face.   
  
Antonio smiles, thrilled that he seems to actually be helping Lovino’s mood. Lovino keeps glancing at him, eyes wide and puzzled. Antonio would do the honorable thing and pointedly ignore the way Lovino looking at him like that affects Antonio—a jolt of something low in his gut, a rush of blood and a thump of his heart—he silences the thoughts.   
  
But Antonio can’t help but think that Lovino looks especially handsome when he isn’t busy furrowing his brow. He almost looks calm, perhaps a bit restrained—waiting. Lovino shifts, just slightly, places his other hand on top of Antonio’s, this thumb pressing carefully between two ridges of Antonio’s knuckles. His hand moves slowly, as if afraid he’ll be burned—and Antonio finds the hesitation rather endearing. Antonio beams and mirrors the gesture, sliding a thumb up along the side of Lovino’s hand, assuming it is comforting for him.   
  
It’s calming. Looking at Lovino like this—but Antonio restrains himself. It wouldn’t do to reverse the good he’s done here by making Lovino angry with him. So he bites back the comment of how nice Lovino looks tonight and ignores the way Lovino’s chest rises and falls so unevenly, the way Lovino’s eyes staring at him captivates him.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Antonio says again, smiling, “I’m sure the next meeting won’t be so distressing.”   
  
He smiles at him, all comfort and sympathy. He silently congratulates himself on doing a good job with comforting someone so precious to him as Lovino, and to finally reading the situation well enough to be able to be a comfort. He keeps smiling, perfectly supportive and sincere.  
  
But Lovino jerks his head back a little, seems to snap out of a daze at the same time that he stops breathing—Antonio sees the rise and fall of his chest cease for half a moment. Antonio sees the confusion in Lovino’s expression, there only for a second, and it confuses Antonio in turn.   
  
“Bastard,” Lovino breathes out quietly, darkly, and yanks his hands away from Antonio. He looks away from Antonio and does not meet his gaze again. He downs his drink down and slams it on the table again.   
  
“What did I do?” Antonio asks, at a complete loss.   
  
  
  
**III.**  
Antonio awakens with a sneeze that shudders through his whole body. He moans, sinking back into his bed. The sun is too bright today. He normally would love the feel of sun on his cheeks as he wakes up, but right now it’s giving him a headache and making him wish he’d stayed asleep.   
  
He blinks his eyes open and he jolts a little in surprise when his eyes land on Lovino, sitting comfortably on the side of his bed and staring down at him. He jerks back a little in surprise when he spots Antonio staring at him and with a blush he looks away.  
  
“So you’re finally awake, asshole.”  
  
“Lovi?” he asks quietly.  
  
“Who the fuck _else_ would it be? Do you let other people in your room?” Lovino snaps, and Antonio wisely decides that Lovino is grumpy about something.   
  
He thinks about Francis coming to visit a few times and asking to borrow some clothes, and then asking if Antonio can help change. He thinks of Gilbert busting in without knocking and declaring the new, exciting adventure they were going to do that day which usually amounted to bothering Ludwig or drinking with Arthur. There’s also the few times that Feliciano comes to his house looking for Lovino.   
  
“Sometimes,” he decides, and is a little confused by the fact that Lovino tenses up. “But I’m always happiest to see Lovi.”  
  
He laughs but it breaks off into a cough. He blinks a few times, and then groans, turning his head into his pillow. Being sick is no fun at all. He was going to go to the market today, too.  
  
A hand touches his forehead, and it’s cool to the touch. Lovino’s hand is so soft, Antonio thinks, leaning into the touch. But the hand snaps back quickly enough. He misses it instantly.   
  
“Christ, you’re burning up. Are you going into another recession or something?”  
  
“Hmm,” Antonio hums, blinking his eyes open and wishing Lovino’s hands were closer so they could rest against the back of his neck or against his cheek. “I don’t know.”  
  
“How the fuck do you not know about your own damn, stupid country?”  
  
“Listening to things like that is so depressing,” Antonio protests, not quite whining. “I’d rather spend time with you.”  
  
Lovino narrows his eyes and scoffs, though his cheeks are red. “Well you’re sick, dumbass. Now what?”   
  
“Oh, I’m fine,” Antonio says and tries to sit up, his arms shaking under the weight. “I need to go buy some tomatoes, and we were going to go together. I remember. So—”  
  
“Get the fuck back down,” Lovino snaps and shoves none-too-gently against Antonio’s shoulder, sending him rocking back and lying flat on the bed, head back on the pillow. “I’m not letting you move. Sleep. Normally you can’t get enough of it, so this shouldn’t be too difficult for that stupid brain of yours.”  
  
Antonio chuckles and lifts a hand, touching Lovino’s and tugging it towards him. He rests the hand against his cheek before turning his head and settling heavily against it. Lovino’s hand twitches against his cheek, but doesn’t immediately disappear. Instead, his fingers curl just slightly, pressing against the arch of his cheekbone. Antonio sighs out, content.   
  
“Your hand’s so cool.”  
  
“Fuck that,” Lovino mutters. “You’re just too hot.”  
  
Antonio sighs again. “I’m fine, really. I can get up and even make you some breakfast if you want.”  
  
When he goes to sit up again, Lovino shoves him down, frowning and red-faced. The hand leaves his cheek and Antonio is all too aware of its absence and how much he wishes it back again. “You aren’t going to fucking move until I say so, got it? Fuck. If you keep acting like an idiot, you’re going to worry people, you know.”  
  
Antonio glances up at him, and smiles. “Really?”  
  
“Are you a fucking idiot? People care about you, asshole.”  
  
Antonio closes his eyes. He’s not sure if it’s the fever or Lovino’s words, but he feels sunny and warm. He asks, playful, “Like who?”  
  
“I’m not going to spell it out to you just to satisfy your own ego, damn it. If you used that stupid brain of yours I’m sure you’d be able to think of at least one or two. Idiot.”   
  
Antonio thinks this over, hums softly in the back of his throat. He can think of a few, but there’s only one he cares about.   
  
“Do you count, Lovi?”   
  
He feels Lovino freeze above him, but isn’t quite sure why he would be doing that. Antonio is only teasing, after all. He waits for the rejection. For the shouting and the snapping and the insistence that Antonio is a big, fat idiot.   
  
And then he feels the hand on his cheek, very lightly. But when he blinks his eyes open, Lovino is just glaring at him, and he’s crossing his arms. Antonio figures he must have imagined the touch.  
  
“Just sleep, okay?” Lovino says, not quite demanding but not quite asking, either. He doesn’t say please, but it’s in the tone of his voice. And for half a second, his expression almost seems soft.   
  
So Antonio breathes out and offers him a lopsided smile. “If you insist.”   
  
“I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t say it.” For good measure he adds, “Idiot.”   
  
Antonio’s smile widens. “I’m very lucky to have someone like you worrying over me! I guess no matter how much time passes, you still worry about your boss, huh?”  
  
“You’re not my boss,” Lovino snaps. “And it has nothing to do with that, you dense fuck.”   
  
Antonio closes his eyes and sleeps. Before he completely loses consciousness, he can swear that a few fingers card through his hair. If only for a moment.   
  
  
  
**IV.**  
Antonio is on his way to the world meeting when Lovino yanks him to hard left by his tie. He chokes a little, eyes wide in surprise, but lets Lovino drag him off without much more protest than a started gasp of his name. Antonio ignores the way he _really likes this_ and silently indulges in fantasies that won’t happen, involving closed doors and slackened ties.   
  
“Lovi?” he asks, or at least attempts to since Lovino dragging him by his tie is making it a little hard to breathe. He touches Lovino’s elbow, trying to loosen the hold by appealing to Lovino’s sense of courtesy. His fingers drum against Lovino’s arm.   
  
“What,” Lovino grits out and finally comes to a stop and loosens his hold on Antonio’s tie. Antonio rubs at his neck as Lovino continues, “the fuck are you wearing, idiot?”  
  
Antonio looks down at his suit. He doesn’t see anything particularly bad about it but then again it’s a little hard to concentrate when Lovino is using both his hands to loosen and pull off Antonio’s tie. This never happens. Antonio is momentarily stunned, but recovers quickly enough.  
  
“Lovi!” he gasps out before his mind short-circuits—Lovino’s fingertips bush so softly against his throat and he’s forgotten how to breathe.   
  
“You’re clashing, you stupid little moron,” Lovino mutters to Antonio’s chest as he focuses on pulling the tie free of Antonio’s shirt, and then lifting one hand to adjust the collar he knocks askew. “I’m embarrassed just looking at you, damn it.”  
  
Antonio touches at his neck, now tie-free, and frowns. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to not wear a tie…”  
  
Lovino makes a big show of rolling his eyes, as if Antonio is the biggest idiot on the planet. Lovino probably thinks he is—he’s thought so for the last few centuries, at least. He holds up Antonio’s tie to his own suit jacket and shirt. He studies the color for a while and then with one hand starts unknotting his own tie.   
  
“You’re using mine,” he says decisively.   
  
“Really, it won’t be necessary,” Antonio protests, and holds up his hands in a sign of surrender. He takes a step towards Lovino, intent on getting his tie back, but Lovino glares and steps back.   
  
“Fuck off. You have a presentation today, right? I’ll be damned if I let you get up there looking like a slob.”   
  
And with that, he strips off his own tie and approaches Antonio, adjusting his collar again, only this time popping it up. He steps up close and slings his tie around Antonio’s neck and sets to work on tying it for him. Antonio dips his chin, watching the crown of Lovino’s head for a moment and then watching Lovino’s fingertips and hoping that maybe his fingers will brush exposed skin again.   
  
“What would I do without you?” Antonio asks with a sighing laugh. He feels warm and a little bit fluttery.   
  
Lovino pauses, and then looks up at Antonio with a glare. “You’d look like a slob. Hell, you probably would have gotten yourself killed by now.”  
  
“Because I didn’t wear the right color tie?” Antonio asks, mystified.   
  
“ _No,_ ” Lovino snaps and then curses quietly in Italian. “Moron. Just in general. It’s your own fault you don’t pay attention to the shit going on around you.”  
  
“I pay attention,” Antonio protests weakly, his attempts to argue curtailing when Lovino’s fingers _do_ touch his neck again.   
  
“No you don’t,” Lovino snaps, though this time his voice sounds a little strained. “Though maybe sometimes it’s for the better.” Before Antonio can ask what Lovino means by that, Lovino steps away and begins tying Antonio’s tie around his own neck. He nods to Antonio, “That’s a much better color for you, anyway. Brings out your eyes.”   
  
Antonio looks away, trying to find a surface he can see his reflection in. Not seeing anything, he just shrugs his shoulders and grins.   
  
“Then I look okay?” Antonio asks.   
  
Lovino pauses, and looks Antonio up and down, staring from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes. The unexpected scrutiny causes Antonio’s ears to warm up and, undoubtedly, turn pink. He straightens his back a little, trying to exude confidence and whatever else Lovino thinks he lacks. He stays quiet, waiting expectantly and watching Lovino watch him so intensely. On some levels he’s used to Lovino staring at him but on so many other levels he’ll never be used to it.   
  
“… I’ve seen worse, I guess.”   
  
Lovino’s face turns red and he turns away as he finishes tying his tie. Even without a mirror to check, Lovino ties it perfectly. He always dresses nicely. He’s very nice to look at. Antonio likes to do presentations because then he has an excuse to stare out at Lovino and say he’s just making eye contact with the audience.   
  
“You look nice, too, Lovi.”   
  
“Tch, idiot,” Lovino mutters, but the insult lacks venom.   
  
He turns to Antonio again and, for good measure, straightens Antonio’s lapels. Antonio doesn’t mind the extra excuse for Lovino to touch him. He thinks that maybe he should wear the wrong tie color more often, if it means Lovino touching him so often.   
  
“If you really can’t do anything on your own maybe I should just give in and stay with you,” Lovino mutters and then glances up at Antonio. Antonio isn’t sure why he suddenly looks so shy, but it’s cute.   
  
“Would you want to?” Antonio asks, blinking.  
  
Lovino blinks too, staring up at him as if that wasn’t the response he’d expected. He opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it again. And Antonio watches a blush creep up over his cheeks. It’s really cute, Antonio thinks.   
  
“Would you?” Antonio asks again.   
  
“I already cook for you a lot whenever you fuck up the pasta,” Lovino mutters, weighing his words carefully. He shrugs.   
  
Antonio beams. “It’d be just like when you were little and spent all your time in my house! Only now you know how to cook and dress yourself! So cute. No matter how old you get and how well-dressed, you’ll always be so cute.”   
  
Lovino freezes up, and then his expression darkens.  
  
“I’m not a little kid anymore, asshole,” he snaps and backs away from him. Antonio mourns the loss instantly, especially when Lovino turns on his heel and stomps towards the meeting room, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t you have a presentation to do? Hurry up.”   
  
Antonio wanders behind him, confused. He stares down at the new tie around his neck, smoothing his hands over it idly. He can’t help but think he’s missed something important.  
  
  
  
 **V.**   
“Lovi!” Antonio calls cheerfully as he opens the door just in time for Lovino to gasp out a quiet _Antonio._ before realizing that Antonio is right there, and he has to do a double-take before he’s stuffing his cock back into his pants.  
  
Antonio feels himself blush despite himself and he closes the door a little but doesn’t quite pull away from the room even though he’s completely forgotten what he was going to tell Lovino because the only thing he can think about now is that _Lovino was masturbating._  
  
“ _Bastard_!” Lovino yells, not looking at him and hurriedly trying to smooth out his shirt and hair and not make it look like he’d just been jerking off, despite the full-frontal evidence building the front of his pants. “Don’t you ever _knock?_ Go the fuck away!”  
  
And since Lovino _is_ throwing stuff now (he just manages to avoid a portfolio of what looks like very important papers), Antonio quickly ducks out of the room with a breathless, “I was just coming to say dinner was ready!”   
  
And he shuts the door and walks away quickly, eyes wide and heart pounding not so much from embarrassment but because, he realizes with a certain mystified realization, that he is jealous. Of course Lovino would do something like that—he’s a healthy young man and he’s attractive and—and of course he’d be thinking of some pretty girl. Antonio stops walking, frowning at the ground. Of course. A pretty girl. There are plenty of pretty nations, and certainly a plethora of pretty Italian women he can choose from for his fantasies.   
  
Something stirs in the pit of his gut. He starts walking again. Antonio doesn’t like thinking of the jealousy so he tries to push it away, tells himself to just think about Lovino because Lovino is adorable and—he’d been so flushed before, his hand held his cock so tightly, and the way his mouth parted when he said Antonio’s name.  
  
Antonio stops walking again. He’s blushing. Because now he’s thinking of what Lovino would look like if he’d been saying Antonio’s name for a different reason—not from actually seeing him walk in on a private moment, but as a product of that desire. He smiles to himself, indulging in the fantasy for a moment before tucking it away and stuffing his hands into his pockets.   
  
Once downstairs, Antonio sits at the table, looking over the pasta he’d made just for Lovino, and waiting for Lovino to show up. He already can think of all the insults Lovino will make about the pasta, and he looks forward to the new, creative ways that Lovino can look at him so passionately. He doesn’t have to wait for too long. He appears after a quarter of an hour, his hair still looking a bit disheveled and his shirt a little wrinkled and his cheeks a warm rosy color. Perhaps Antonio only notices the disheveled nature because he knows to look for it.  
  
He beams at Lovino. “There you are! I was beginning to worry the food would get cold.”  
  
Lovino gives him a sharp look, undoubtedly thinking Antonio is mocking him. He sits down heavily, picks up fork, and mutters something under his breath. Then he begins to eat. Antonio continues to beam, focusing on how handsome Lovino looks and not focusing on the fact that not too long ago he’d been aroused by someone who is not Antonio.   
  
Antonio thinks he needs a long, cold shower. And to not think about Lovino. He needs to not think about Lovino at all—or maybe just a little bit. Only a little. It isn’t as if Lovino will be thinking of him.   
  
“Is it good?” Antonio asks and is almost alarmed by how breathless he sounds.  
  
Lovino doesn’t look up, sitting awkwardly rigid in his chair. “I’ve had worse.”   
  
He glances up at Antonio then, his eyes find Antonio’s—but he looks away quickly, his cheeks burning red.   
  
They eat in silence. Antonio wishes there could be something he could say that would make Lovino comfortable again. But he isn’t sure what Lovino wants to hear or if he even wants to hear anything.  
  
“Antonio.”  
  
At the sound of his name, said so seriously, Antonio looks up. “Yes?”  
  
“I—I… Never mind. Forget it.”   
  
Confused, Antonio tilts his head to the side. “If you say so.”   
  
Lovino stews in silence, staring down at the table. Then he groans. “Damn it—no. Don’t forget it.”  
  
“Okay?” Antonio asks, bemused.  
  
Lovino isn’t looking at him and his face is a bright red—just like a ripened tomato, Antonio thinks. He says, ever so quietly, “I have to tell you something.”  
  
Antonio blinks, unsure what it could be. He thinks with a moment of dread that if Lovino’s going to tell him about the pretty girl he desires, he won’t be able to handle it. But he wouldn’t be so cruel as to interrupt Lovino if he wishes to speak with Antonio. He’ll be a good friend—he’ll listen to whatever it is that Lovino has to say.   
  
“Yes?” Antonio prompts, trying to smile as sincerely as he can, to put Lovino’s mind at ease.   
  
Lovino hesitates, his brow furrowing and he actually looks terrified for a moment.   
  
“About… what you heard,” he says, very quietly, staring down at Antonio’s past as if it’d grown a head. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or… or…”  
  
He trails off, his blush completely overtaking his face. It’s red all over.   
  
Antonio doesn’t know what he means by _heard_. He’d certainly _seen_ a lot more than he’d heard. He fiddles with his utensils before setting them down, shifting his feet against the carpet beneath them.   
  
“The truth is… I…”   
  
Lovino licks his lips, taking in a deep breath—and Antonio is captivated. He feels the heat rising over his neck and towards his ears. But Lovino doesn’t continue. He just stares down at the table, moody and silent.   
  
Antonio decides that he should help him. He smiles, warm and sympathetic. “It’s okay, Lovi. I understand what you’re saying.”  
  
Lovino’s brows furrow and he looks up at Antonio and Antonio doesn’t think he’s imagining the hopeful expression Lovino is giving him. Antonio smiles widely, happy he can set Lovino’s mind at ease. Lovino leans in a little, looking at him. His hand on the table twitches, as if he’s going to reach out and touch Antonio.  
  
Antonio solves the problem for him, lowering his hand over Lovino’s and squeezing his fingertips. He smiles, beams even. Lovino clenches his eyes shut, squeezing them tight as if it is physically painful. But there’s a moment of relief on his face, too.   
  
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I honestly don’t mind, or care even!” he says, voice warm and, he hopes, comforting.   
  
There’s a flicker of confusion in Lovino’s eyes.   
  
“Yes, it’s true!” Antonio laughs warmly and pats Lovino’s hand before taking his hand back. “You’re young, it’s only natural! Though no wonder you don’t wear your cross anymore.”  
  
Lovino’s expression darkens. He takes his hand off the table and hides it in his lap.   
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“No, no! I don’t mean it’s a bad thing! I mean, when you—you like a really pretty girl, it’s normal to…”  
  
Lovino whips his head up, eyebrows knitting together. “What the fuck are you talking about? What girl?”   
  
“Or just—general fantasies,” Antonio says, quickly backtracking. “It’s fine. I mean. There comes a time in every man’s life when—” He clears his throat. “It’s normal for you to have—ah. Desires and fantasies. We’re both adults here, we can talk about it. I mean. What you do in the privacy of your own room is your business, but you don’t have to think it’s shameful to fantasize about girls.”   
  
“What the _fuck_!” Lovino says again, or, rather, shouts.   
  
“And, anyway, it’s good to relieve the built up—”  
  
“Antonio. What the fuck.” Lovino isn’t shouting now. He’s livid. Antonio can feel the heat of his emotion rolling off him in waves.   
  
“L-Lovi,” Antonio attempts, completely lost as to what has made Lovino so angry. The conversation had been going so well at first, too.  
  
“Do you mean to tell me—that you think—that I—I was thinking about fucking some girl! Have you been listening at all?”  
  
“Ah—well. I mean. There wasn’t much to _listen_ to…”  
  
Antonio can’t remember a time that Lovino looked so angry. But it’s made worse by the fact that, not for the first time, Antonio has no idea what he’s done or said. Lovino’s fists are clenched at his sides and his entire body is rigid, taut. And he’s glaring at Antonio with such intensity, Antonio fears that Lovino will throw the table at him.   
  
“So what the fuck are you saying, then,” Lovino grits out.  
  
“I’m trying to—you know. Set your mind at ease. I mean. Has anyone ever had this conversation with you before? Because I know that I—”  
  
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child, you stupid asshole! You are _not_ having this conversation with me. I’m not your fucking underling anymore, so stop talking to me like you’re my fucking parent.”  
  
Lovino must be very angry, Antonio thinks, hopelessly lost, since he was cursing so much. He holds his hands up in surrender. “But Lovi, as your former boss—”  
  
“Fuck you, Antonio,” Lovino says, voice dripping with venom. He stands up abruptly and stomps away. Antonio stays in his seat, dazed, for a moment before he is hurrying after him.  
  
“Lovi!”   
  
“Leave me alone,” Lovino snaps, slamming a door. Antonio hears the click of the lock.   
  
Antonio sighs, frowning. He hurries to the door and knocks. “Lovi, just tell me what I did wrong!”   
  
“Fuck off,” comes Lovino’s muffled reply.   
  
With a sigh, Antonio presses his forehead against the door, feeling miserable in his confusion.   
  
“But—”  
  
“You never fucking listen, do you?”   
  
Antonio frowns, knocks on the door softly. “Lovi, please. Don’t be angry with me. I don’t even know what I did. I’m sorry?”   
  
Lovino doesn’t answer, and a short while later, Antonio hears the sounds of a shower running. Antonio sighs and backs away from the door. He retreats back to the kitchen and cleans up the unsuccessful dinner. It’s hard to concentrate at first because he keeps imagining Lovino in the shower. That’s a nice enough thought until he thinks of how angry he was with him. Then it’s compounded when Antonio thinks of Lovino thinking about a pretty girl.   
  
Antonio decides it’s time to stop thinking in general.   
  
  
  
**I.**   
Its’ a few weeks before Antonio sees Lovino again. It’s late at night when he hears a knock at his front door. Pulling himself up from his chair, he moves quickly to the door and opens it and is only half-surprised to see Lovino.  
  
“Oh!” he says in surprise, and then grins. “Hi!”   
  
“Are you going to let me in or what?” Lovino mutters, not looking at him. There’s a bag at his side. Antonio beams and steps aside, angling down to seize Lovino’s bag just as he’s going for it. Their hands brush and they both whip their hands away from each other.   
  
“Come in,” Antonio says quietly, seizing the bag for real this time and ushering Lovino inside. Lovino doesn’t look at him.   
  
The last few weeks without Lovino have been difficult. Antonio agonizes over it for only a few minutes before he pushes it aside, decides he doesn’t want to focus on it. But Lovino being here brings it all to the front of his mind again. Antonio knows how he should be acting, but it’s hard. He resists the temptation to reach out and grasp Lovino’s hand, pull it to his lips and kissing those angry looking knuckles. The more and more time passes, the harder it is for Antonio to pretend.   
  
“What brings you here, Lovi?” Antonio asks warmly.   
  
“I was just passing through,” Lovino mutters. “What room are you putting me in?”  
  
“Are you staying long?” Antonio asks, following Lovino up the stairs and wondering which room he should put him in. He weighs the bag in his hand. It feels heavy.  
  
Lovino turns around with a start, eyes wide. “What? You don’t want me to stay? You want me to leave or something?”  
  
He almost sounds alarmed. Antonio blinks in surprise and quickly shakes his head.   
  
“Nothing would make me happier than having you stay.” He says it gently, relieved for an excuse to be sincere, to be honest. Pretending that he isn’t helplessly in love with Lovino is difficult. Falling into the role Lovino has assigned for him is difficult when he keeps pushing against the borderlines, keeps pushing against the urge to hold him.   
  
Lovino looks disbelieving, but quickly enough he slants his eyes away.   
  
“Oh.”  
  
“So please stay for as long as you want,” Antonio says, and indulges the urge to touch Lovino. He walks up the last few steps and lifts a hand to touch Lovino’s elbow, leading him down the hallway. “And I’ll put you in the room right next to mine! That’s okay, right?”   
  
Lovino stares down at the hand on his elbow, but doesn’t answer.   
  
Antonio takes it as a yes, and deposits Lovino’s bag into the room. He smiles at Lovino, his chest flooding with warmth with seeing Lovino again, with having Lovino so close. He wants to hug him, hold him close—apologize again and again for all the times he’s made him mad. Especially lately. He doesn’t know what it is he’s done, but he’s sorry for it. He can sense the distance between himself and Lovino, the distance that even now Lovino is enforcing.   
  
“It’s late,” Lovino says, and takes his elbow away from Antonio’s hand. Antonio misses touching him instantly. “You should sleep, bastard.”   
  
“Sleep?” Antonio parrots.  
  
Lovino gives him a deadpanned look. “Surely you know what that is. You do enough of it to rest a whole continent.”   
  
Antonio laughs.  
  
Lovino looks away, crosses his arms protectively across his chest. He doesn’t meet Antonio’s gaze.   
  
“Go sleep,” he mutters.   
  
“If you say so,” Antonio says, feeling dismissed in his own home, turns on his heel, and moves into his room. He shuts the door behind him. He rests against it, palms flat against the ancient wood of the door. He listens quietly as Lovino heaves a sigh out in the hallway and then the click of a door shutting behind him. Antonio sighs, too.   
  
But he can’t sleep. He tries. But he isn’t sleepy. And he eventually gives up, throws aside his blankets, and gets out of bed, intent to go downstairs to make something to eat or drink.  
  
But when he opens the door, after padding quietly across his room, Lovino is standing there. He looks surprised to be caught, just standing outside Antonio’s door. His hands aren’t raised to knock, they just hang limply at his side. His eyes widen in shock upon seeing Antonio.   
  
“Oh!” Antonio says softly. “Lovi.”  
  
“What the fuck are you doing up?” Lovino snaps, face red and looking away after a strained moment of just staring at Antonio’s chin.   
  
Antonio scratches at the spot behind his ear and laughs. “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?”  
  
“I’m hungry,” Lovino mutters. “Make me something.”  
  
“Okay,” Antonio says, beaming. “Let’s go downstairs.”   
  
Antonio leads the way. He can feel Lovino behind him.   
  
Downstairs, Antonio hums to himself softly as he clicks on the light and begins gathering ingredients to make Lovino a simple dish. Lovino sits down at the counter, not saying anything. Just watching Antonio. Antonio can feel the heat of his gaze on his back as he moves around the kitchen. Antonio flushes a little, but grins soon enough. Having Lovino near again feels like coming home, feels like everything is set right again. Antonio keeps humming, keeps working, peering over his shoulder occasionally to beam at Lovino—trying to show him, without words, how happy he is to have him near. Lovino’s response to these ministrations is to alternate between a deadpanned expression or a scowl.   
  
“I think I’m going to stay for a while,” Lovino says abruptly after about twenty minutes of silence.   
  
Antonio looks up. He blinks once, and then smiles. “I’m glad.”   
  
Lovino looks away and mutters something in Italian that Antonio doesn’t quite catch.   
  
“Ta da,” Antonio says, flourishing the plate of food he’s created and setting it down in front of Lovino. He hands him a fork. “I hope you like it.”   
  
Lovino doesn’t respond, but the fact that he doesn’t complain as he eats is a good enough sign for Antonio.   
  
Antonio bends over the counter, pillowing his chin in both his palms as he watches Lovino eat. Lovino pauses occasionally, giving him a glare, silently asking what the fuck he is even doing. But Antonio doesn’t answer the silent questions. He just smiles at him, though in the back of his mind he thinks that he should probably start cleaning up the kitchen.   
  
“You’re very cute tonight,” Antonio cautions, eyeing Lovino for his reaction.  
  
The fork pauses halfway to Lovino’s mouth and he narrows his eyes at Antonio. “What the hell? Stop talking. And why are you staring at me like that? It’s creepy.”  
  
Antonio sighs and watches Lovino continue to eat. Lovino doesn’t say anything else in protest, though he does look a little uncomfortable. But soon enough the food is gone and Antonio is whisking the plate away.  
  
“Was that enough?” he asks.   
  
“It’ll do,” Lovino mutters. He pauses, then asks. “Hey, Antonio.”  
  
“Yes?” Antonio asks, taking the plate to the sink and leaving it there to deal with later on, possibly early afternoon or whenever he wakes up.   
  
“… Is something the matter with you?” Lovino asks.  
  
“That’s not very nice!” Antonio says, smiling and laughing a little. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I don’t know. Forget it.” Lovino looks away, face red.  
  
Antonio’s smile softens. He starts cleaning up the kitchen, keeping his eyes focused on the task at hand. Though he finds himself glancing at Lovino out of the corner of his eye every so often. It’s just as well. Lovino isn’t looking at him, either.   
  
“Actually,” Antonio says quietly, after a short pause.   
  
“What?” Lovino asks.   
  
Antonio hums quietly to himself, a soft little note before falling silent. He pauses in his task of cleaning up the kitchen and looks at Lovino.   
  
“I have something on my mind,” he says.  
  
Lovino stares at him. Antonio stares back. And then one of Lovino’s eyebrows twitches and he grits out through clenched teeth: “Well, are you going to fucking tell me or am I supposed to guess?”   
  
Antonio laughs, suddenly seeing how quickly the corner is looming behind him as he steadily backs his way towards it. Metaphorically, at least. He swallows a little and sets down the dishtowel he’d been using to wipe down the counter.   
  
“Lovi… do you think it’s bad to be dishonest about something like feelings?”  
  
Whatever it is that Lovino was expecting, Antonio supposes that wasn’t it—since he looks momentarily shocked, then frightened. As if he’s about to run away, hide away. The moment passes, however, and soon enough Lovino bites at his lip, his eyes narrowing.   
  
“You _idiot_! You think people are ever honest about that shit? It’s what just about everybody lies about.”   
  
Antonio frowns, staring at the counter. He grips the dishtowel. “Really.”  
  
“Are you really as stupid as that? I know you’re an idiot, but you’re not usually this fucking dumb,” Lovino mutters, and Antonio recognizes that Lovino is being defensive. This makes Antonio frown more.   
  
“But why… do we all have that urge to do lie about it?”   
  
Lovino sputters. “Oh, I don’t know, Antonio. Maybe being _rejected_. Ever thought about that? Maybe people aren’t as content to humiliate themselves with their _feelings_ if it only leads to being turned down. We can’t all be oblivious idiots like you. We’ve got pride, you know.”   
  
Antonio frowns further. Is he silent because he doesn’t want Lovino to reject him? Possibly. The idea of Lovino avoiding him is something painful to think about. But Antonio has long since grown used to Lovino’s insults, been able to pick out when he’s serious about his insults or if he’s just saying them for the sake of saying them. The last few weeks without Lovino have been hard. Being without him because of avoidance is just as bad, Antonio thinks.   
  
“That’s all?” Antonio asks.   
  
“How the fuck should I know how people’s minds work? _Yes._ It’s fear and pride. That’s all.”   
  
Antonio’s frown deepens further. This time, enough for Lovino to notice.  
  
“Hey,” he says.  
  
“Yes?” Antonio asks, looking up and attempting to smile. It doesn’t quite work.  
  
“What’s wrong with you?”   
  
But it feels like things are falling into place. It feels like maybe, for once, Antonio is beginning to understand something. It’s just beyond his reach. He can’t quite pinpoint it. He needs to go a little further, stretch his hand out a little faster.   
  
He turns his attention to Lovino. “So do people often hide their feelings?”   
  
“You are an idiot,” Lovino snaps.   
  
Antonio takes that as a yes. And with that realization, the bottom drops away from his stomach and he looks at Lovino with wide eyes—daring and not daring to hope.   
  
“And,” he asks, softly, “if they lie about it, do those feelings go away?”  
  
Lovino snorts, as if Antonio has just said something hilarious. He shakes his head. “Sometimes, maybe. Tch. Not everybody’s so lucky. It doesn’t matter how hard you try. It doesn’t matter how hard you tell yourself that you shouldn’t… it just happens.”  
  
And Lovino doesn’t even appear to notice that his hand goes up to his neck, to grasp at a crucifix that isn’t there.   
  
Antonio swallows thickly.   
  
“… Why do you know so much about this, Lovino?” Antonio asks, quietly, cautiously, stepping out into the water.  
  
Lovino’s eyes snap up to meet his and he looks petrified, frozen in place. Antonio doesn’t dare move, doesn’t even think to breathe. Lovino opens his mouth to speak, but quickly snaps it shut. And then with a force that causes them both to jump, Lovino shoves his chair back. It scrapes loudly against the floor and a shiver runs up Antonio’s spine.  
  
“I’m going back to bed,” Lovino mutters.   
  
And he walks from the room. Antonio watches him go, considers letting him keep going. He feels tethered to the spot. Perhaps he’s mistaken. Perhaps he’s seeing things that he wants to see. But thinking over Lovino’s actions of the past few weeks—months—years—centuries—and he isn’t sure if it’s just because he wants to see it, or if it’d been there all along. His mouth feels too dry.   
  
He can’t just let Lovino walk away.   
  
“Lovino,” Antonio says, standing up suddenly and running after him. He whips around the corner, sees Lovino already up the stairs, and calls up to him, “You love me!”   
  
Of the things Antonio planned to say, that hadn’t been it.   
  
Lovino freezes, his shoulders tensing up and his face blasting with color. Very slowly he turns his head, but his expression is dark. For half a second, Antonio’s heart leaps into his throat and he’s certain he’s mistaken, certain that he’d just done the last final push to keep Lovino away from him for far longer than a few weeks.   
  
“What did you say? Fuck off.” Despite the darkened expression, Lovino doesn’t sound angry. Instead, he sounds—  
  
Scared?   
  
But Antonio doesn’t listen, running up the stairs two by two. Lovino backs away, but Antonio doesn’t let him get far, catching his chin with his hand and sliding his other arm around his waist.   
  
Lovino attempts to resist for half a moment before he just falls still, in shock, eyes wide and staring up at Antonio with a horror he’s never seen before.   
  
“You do, don’t you?” Antonio asks, softly, attempting to remain calm and comforting even as every single piece of the puzzle he’d been spending centuries putting together snapped into place with painfully clear clarity.   
  
“Why the fuck would I love a bastard like you?” Lovino yells and jerks his chin away from Antonio’s touch. Antonio shifts, pushes Lovino to the wall and plants his free hand to the wall beside Lovino’s head. Lovino stares at him. “Let go of me.”   
  
“Do you hate me, then?” Antonio asks, still not daring to hope even though the spark waited deep inside his chest. He licks his lips, feeling too parched, feeling too wayward—“Lovi, please.”  
  
Lovino goes limp against the wall, relaxes against Antonio’s touch for half a moment. He stares at him, eyes still wide and scared. He isn’t confirming or denying. Just staring at him.   
  
“You—you can’t just pin me down and assume I’ll answer all your question! Shut up!”   
  
“Please?” Antonio asks, quietly.  
  
Lovino’s expression wavers, his eyebrows slanting upwards. He looks hopelessly lost, drowning, pinned down. He doesn’t squirm, he doesn’t resist. He just looks at him, and Antonio looks back—really sees Lovino now, perhaps for the first time, perhaps finally understanding. But there are still pieces waiting to fall into place. There are still things that Antonio doesn’t understand—the difference between honesty and dishonest is one he’s struggled with, and his own heart thuds painfully against his ribcage.   
  
“I’m not going to say some shit like that to an idiot like you! I don’t need you mocking me! Or your damn pity!”   
  
Antonio blinks a few times and tilts his head to the side.  
  
“But…”  
  
“Go away!”  
  
“Should I say it first, then?” Antonio wonders to himself.   
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
Antonio nods to himself. Pride and fear. He understood now. If Lovino is anything, it is prideful. Yes, he understands. If he’s going to get the honesty, he’ll need to be honest first.   
  
“Don’t you know?” Antonio asks, voice quiet.   
  
“No, I _don’t_ know, you stupid fucker.”   
  
“You’re someone very important to me, Lovino. Of course I feel the same way you do. So you don’t have to be afraid or prideful. I love you.”   
  
A weight lifts from his chest. Whether he’s rejected or accepted now, at least he knows he’s finally said it. He wonders at the fact that it’s taken him so long to say so, wonders at the idea of him being able to keep something so big and wonderful to himself when the world, Lovino especially, should know every second of every day.   
  
Lovino doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just staring back at Antonio. And then his entire expression changes. It ripples, shifts from one of anger and fright to instant relief. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He blinks a few times, and Antonio just smiles at him, feels as if a giant weight has lifted up from around _them_.   
  
And then Lovino hits him in the shoulder. “Bastard! Couldn’t you have said something before?”   
  
“I didn’t know,” Antonio says. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Tch, whatever.”   
  
“You say it now!”  
  
“You can’t just ask someone to say something like that, idiot! I’m not some stupid sap like you!”   
  
Antonio laughs, shifting his hand off the wall to curl into the hair at the back of Lovino’s neck.   
  
“Then I’ll have to say it enough for the both of us,” he whispers, and leans in to kiss Lovino.   
  
He half expects to be pushed away and is pleasantly surprised when, instead, Lovino grabs onto him possessively and pulls him closer.   
  
He doesn’t let go.


End file.
